It was the damnedest thing that I have ever seen. Let me repeat that. It was THE DAMNEDEST thing that I have ever seen. In fact, I don't believe a better phrase exists to describe what I just saw.
I was on my way to Clemons Library (aka My Home Away From Home), primed and pumped to write about my morning's sorrowful tale. I was ready to regale you with my woeful story, spin a clever point out of it and leave you with a pithy moral about taking time to smell the roses and things of that nature. Had I not been intercepted by TDT (that's The Damnedest thing, for those of you who just tuned in), you would now be reading a fantastic account of a broken shoe, a missed discussion section, the most wonderful TA in the world, and the power of a friendly hug. (I bet you can fill in the blanks without even reading the column).
Instead, you are in for a real treat. Please pardon my digression and allow me to introduce ... TDT.
Having broken my shoe earlier in the day, I set out toward Clemons barefoot, via the Lawn. On my way, I was stopped by two friends who engaged me in well-intentioned chit-chat. In a clever attempt to sidestep the perfunctory banter, I referenced my writing plans and turned towards the direction of said library.
Simultaneously, I noticed an older, gray-haired woman also walking amongst Mr. Jefferson's Academical Village with an older, gray-haired companion.
This woman, however, was unlike any other University visitor that I have ever seen. While walking about, she carried a smile on her face and an open Ziploc bag in her hand. From my angle, it appeared that she was sprinkling some granular substance upon the grass. Fertilizing the manicured Lawn, perhaps? Somehow, I suspected not.
"Intriguing," I thought, and neared closer to investigate.
My friend spoke first. "I guess I'm just curious ... " he began.
The woman spoke pleasantly as she continued to tip the contents of the freezer bag onto the grass.
"My second husband just loved U.Va.," she said. "He was on the Board of Visitors." My friend and I nodded. I put on my shoes.
"I knew he'd want a piece of him to stay here," she said.
"He just loved this place," the woman's companion chimed in.
Speechless, I struggled to remain composed. The woman, apparently satisfied with the completion of her husband's final wishes, now turned to the other business at hand.
"Which way to Edgar Allen Poe's room?" she asked.
After directing the couple to the West Range, I headed once more toward the library. So the man loved the University, I thought. Could we not have found another way to remember him? Perhaps a donation in his honor, or a sandwich in his name at Cranberry Farms?
Still deep in thought, I encountered the couple outside the Range. Already writing the new column in my head, I asked the gentleman where he was from.
"Atlanta," he replied, pausing briefly to glance at the woman, now entranced by the recording outside Poe's room. The man turned back to me and asked, "Where's the liquor store?"
I couldn't help it.
"The liquor store?" I repeated. "Where's the liquor store?"
The man looked confused, as if nothing that had occurred in the last 10 minutes was even remotely worthy of such befuddlement.
"That's right," he said. "I know you know where it is."
The woman, now finished with Poe, turned to join us.
Since I actually don't know the location of a liquor store, and since I hate to imagine the connection between ashes, Poe and afternoon cocktails, I stammered directions to Barracks Road and attempted my second hasty exit of the day.
It was, as I said before, the damnedest thing that I've ever seen.
So if there is a pithy moral to this tale, it is only this: Watch your step on the Lawn. Resist the temptation to leisurely stroll barefoot, even on the warmest fall day. Finally, use caution the next time you streak. You never know who might be joining you.
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